The Weave

The carpet’s rolled out each day

For the battles which keep peace at bay

We plan the weave of the carpet

Serenaded by the sound of our trumpet

These battles are make believe

We lock ourselves in that field

Throwing away the keys

Which can set free our inner pleas

Leaving the battle isn’t simple, we exclaim

In deference to the complex game

Nothing’s hurt but the eyes of the one

Left blindsided by the fear of no fun

The battle can turn into a gift exchange

Thoughts made the agents of change

When all dependence on the weave has eased

Bliss at last, as if the divine’s been appeased